AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. I hope you enjoy the next chapter! Let me know... how am I doing with everyone? Although I am a M/G girl, I love all the CM characters (Yes, even Erin Strauss!) and I want to do them justice.

Chapter 2

When JJ arrived at the FBI training field the next morning, Aaron Hotchner was already there. Clad in a black tank top and dark blue FBI-issue shorts, the relaxed, dark-haired man leaning against the bleachers holding a cup of coffee hardly looked like her boss.

"Morning," she said as she jogged to the bleachers, her blonde ponytail bouncing with her steps. It was very early in the morning, the sun was barely peaking over High Ridge, and she was freezing in her T-shirt and sweatpants. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her palms over her forearms.

Ever observant, Hotch handed her a cup from the local coffee shop. "Here. This will warm you up."

The cup was good, plain coffee, and it did warm her up almost immediately. "Thanks," she replied. "I didn't have time to stop. I had to get Henry to Betsy's place…"

"I understand."

Hotch would understand. He'd been in her situation for a while now—a single parent, doing both parenting duties for a long period of time. She'd only had to do it for a little over two months now, and it sucked…royally.

JJ sighed sadly. She was yet another statistic in BAU marriages ending badly—only hers barely lasted long enough to be called a marriage.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the maudlin thoughts, she smiled brightly. "So…what are we starting with?"

Taking a slip of paper he'd folded neatly out of his pocket, he unfolded it and read the listing of items. "I thought we'd start with the five-mile run."

"Getting the easy thing out of the way, huh?" she teased with a grin. "That thing is cake."

Hotch grinned back at her. "Life's too short… Let's start with dessert."

"You're on, Hotchner," JJ said, sticking her foot out in front of herself and bending to stretch her hamstrings.

Hotch was nearby, balancing with his knee bent and his ankle in his hand.

"Did you see anyone else in the parking lot?" Aaron asked, switching to the other leg.

"Not a soul," JJ replied, switching legs, too. "Just some sleepy-looking robins."

Aaron frowned for a moment in thought. "I think six might have been a little early."

JJ chuckled. "You don't say…"

"I'm a morning person," he said with a sigh as he bent over to stretch his hamstrings.

Gripping her ankle in the quad stretch, JJ asked, "Is Beth an AM sort of gal?"

"No…she wasn't."

Oh no. Something was off. Most people wouldn't have caught the nuance in Hotch's voice, but JJ knew Hotch well. The way he'd said the words, a slight pause in between, caused her to worry.

She glanced up at Hotch, who was finishing stretching his other quad. He looked at her and then quirked an oddly uncomfortable grin. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

His expression was blank, which was even more suspicious to JJ. "Of course."

JJ didn't buy that for a second, but she didn't push. "Okay…but I'm a good ear if you need one."

"Thanks," he said, again looking vaguely uncomfortable, and then he changed the subject. "Ready to run?"

JJ sighed and stretched her arms over her head in a deceptively languid fashion. "Race ya!" she called a second later and then left him in the dust.

"You're late."

Dave snorted as he strolled leisurely over to Erin Strauss, took a big sip of coffee, yawned, and then said with a devil-may-care tone, "You got me."

Erin rolled her eyes. What on Earth had she ever seen in David Rossi? The man was annoying, despicable, brash, hard-headed…

Just then, he took a seat across from her in the FBI classroom and shot her a smile, and criticism rolled away like the boulder in front of a tomb. There was a sparkle in those espresso eyes, and those firm, sensual lips of his spoke of promises.

And his goatee tickled just the right way….

Before she began to wax poetic about him—the thought made her want to gag—she berated him instead. "I am not wasting my valuable time out here, Agent Rossi. I have—"

"What kind of coffee is in that cup of yours?"

The question was so off the wall, it made her respond. "Colombian. Why?"

"From where?"

Her jaw ticked with irritation. "When I filled my car up with gas, I stopped in and got a cup."

He looked appalled. "Gas station coffee?"

If it were possible, she sat even more ramrod stiff in her seat. "It's good coffee."

"Bullshit," he replied. "It's awful, and you know it."

She raised her chin. "Movin' Mojo was rated the number one convenience store coffee in the Quantico area."

"Second only to dirt in a cup," he added with a smirk, "with a dash of bitter manure for extra flavor."

She narrowed her icy blue eyes before chuckling nastily and slamming her book shut. "That's it. This is simply not going to work. I will tell Aaron that we tried—"

"You didn't even let me tell you why I asked you that."

Oh, how she wished she could stand up and tell him she didn't give a rip about why he was asking that. She really did. She wished she could say she didn't care and then stand up and leave the room…maybe whacking him in the head with her book on the way out?

She sighed sadly. Whacking him was not going to happen—she was above such things—and neither was telling him she didn't care. Because for some damned awful reason, David Rossi got under her skin.

"Okay. You have two minutes before I am gone," she threatened. "Explain."

She thought he looked like he was ready to respond something else, like Ask me nicely, or We both know you're not leaving, Erin. She was actually ready to respond to such a retort…but he shocked her.

He simply answered her.

"Erin, you partake in far too little of the joys in life," he said quietly. "Simple, honest pleasures, like good coffee, sleeping late…regular sex with an excellent lover…"

Her cheeks flamed, despite her wish for them to remain pale. Only Rossi could make her blush—and blush everywhere.

"Things that give you great pleasure," he continued.

"Just because I lack your hedonistic lifestyle does not mean I don't experience great pleasure," she replied.

He shook his head and made tsking sounds.

"What?" she snapped.

"Sweetheart…" he drawled, tapping her portable mug with his long, swarthy, talented fingers, "your coffee doesn't lie."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying—"

"I'm not saying anything," he said, sitting back in his chair again. "I just realized that about you…and it made me thoughtful. You should have those pleasures."

She snorted with laughter. "And I suppose you are the man to give them to me?"

He met her surprised look with a thoughtful one of his own...